


Beat to the Rhythm of My Broken Heart

by painted_pain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painted_pain/pseuds/painted_pain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One, two, three, breath in, breath out, breath in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beat to the Rhythm of My Broken Heart

One, two, three, breath in, breath out, breath in, steady pounding against the pavement, slap after slap of feet on the concrete, a rhythmic beat that thuds and thrums and reverberates up through the soles of John’s feet. His teeth vibrate and rattle in his head, clacking together and deepening the rhythm set by his feet and his breath. He sets a fast pace, thoughts jarring away in the long strides he makes, empty and clean except for the ever-present need to go faster, run faster, run away, run, run, run and hide.   
  
John can feel the burn in his thighs, his calves, his lungs; he can barely breathe through it, throat closing up with pain and loss and fear. He wants this to burn and ache and hurt, to burn away his flesh and mind and soul, burn until it turns to ash, flakes softly falling and floating away on an invisible breeze.    
  
It would be appropriate. His heart is already burnt to a crisp.   
  
John finishes his tenth loop of the large motel parking lot and opens the door to his motel room, early morning light falling soft on the huddled lumps on the bed farthest away from him, bed covers lumped up around them, a cocoon of warmth and safety.   
  
He slips into the room quietly and sits gently on the end of the bed. The top of little Sammy’s head peeps up from around the loop of Dean’s young arms and John thinks, no, not burnt to a crisp. Scarred, yes, but alive and beating, each painful pulse a reminder that he did not die that day. He has something else to live for.


End file.
